


Eyes the Color of the Sky

by Kaniner



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Boyfriends doing cute shit for each other, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:30:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 9,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaniner/pseuds/Kaniner
Summary: One shots of my Inquisitor and his relationship with Dorian from both points of view. Will mostly be in order with warnings at the beginnings of chapters as needed.





	1. Novelty

**Author's Note:**

> My Inquisitor is an Artificer archer. The name is sort of strange, so here's how I say it:  
> *ILJRENE pronounciation: (il-jre-nuh)  
> I-L (ill)   
> J (like French je or j'ai, rolls into the next letter)  
> Rene ( ren-nuh) Two syllables 
> 
> I thought about changing it to something easier for the sake of posting, but screw it. XD It's my Inquisitor, and that's his name.

**Dorian's POV**

 

It was the novelty of it all that first drew me to him- an _elf_ , of all people, working with the Chantry to stop tears in the sky, forming the Inquisition. What a thrilling scandal back home (what _would_ mother say?) to hear that the heir of House Pavus was flitting about with the Dalish Herald of Andraste. I could only imagine the rumours. He was foreign and taboo, and it was all very exciting. I couldn't wait to meet him.

 

Iljrene was objectively pleasing to look at, if a bit plain, to be honest. He was lanky, thinner than city elves, and so pale I'd have thought him albino. His face and nose were too long, his mouth too low to be called beautiful. His lips were pouty and his brow was almost constantly furrowed, making him permanently resemble a kicked puppy. Piercing, sky-blue eyes were bordered with light grey brows and snowy hair that framed his ears nicely. His vallaslin matched his eyes and wove up his cheeks like vines -how exotic! Overall, yes, very pleasant. Not a ten, but he'd do.

 

The man was a complete “do-gooder.” I couldn't detect a hint of subversion with his actions in the Inquisition. He treated all around him with respect and dignity (an a degree of wariness that only comes from a lifetime of discrimination), and strived to understand those who have wronged him or others. His honesty and deeply held desire for peace were quite boring, to be truthful. He surely wouldn't keep my interest for long, so what was the harm in a little wink or some harmless flirting?

 

I hadn't expected him to be so receptive... even less for him to reciprocate! And my, but he could be charming in his own way. There was nothing lewd about his banter. He seemed to favour sincere compliments, of which my entire being gave him plenty to work with. He quickly endeared himself to me through his flattery.

 

His quick wit made the banter more fun.

 

When travelling with him, the roads don't seem so long.

 

 

\-------------

 

“We'll talk later.”

 

“As you wish. I _do_ rather like watching you leave.”

 

The elf nodded politely, his expression unchanged but for a glimmer of excitement that crept into his eyes. I winked at him as he turned, one last attempt to crack his defences, to show all of Haven that he's smitten with me. Just a little twitch of the lips would leave me feeling victorious, or the slight tinge of reddened ears as he turned to go. But Iljrene walked measuredly back to the War Room. Drat. I'll have to up my game.

 

When I started to get back to work, I wasn't alone. Varric, the sneaky dwarf, was watching me.

 

“He's not a plaything, Tevinter,” he said firmly.

 

“Is the Herald of Andraste too pure and holy to have a tryst with a Tevinter mage?” I asked with my best show of sarcasm.

 

The dwarf shook his head and gave me a level stare. “It's not about reputation. He's kind, and he's trying to fix this broken world, and not just the Veil. He's not the type for a hit and run, Dorian. You'll really hurt him if you play with him like this. Don't treat him like one of your party favours.”

 

The genuine concern for his well-being took the fun right out of the game. Of _course_ Iljrene was too chivalrous for a one-night-stand. I knew that. We had started to get closer, and the thought of hurting him was unacceptable. Not that anyone cared, but I'm not a monster. 

 

“Noted,” I conceded. Iljrene would go down in my history as the “tryst that would never be.”

 

He nodded his thanks and was off.

 

It was a shame. Due to familiar obligations, I had never entertained the idea of a true romance with a lover. Some of them had lasted longer than others, but they were never serious. Sooner or later we all would be married off as prized studs to fuck women and plant children. We couldn't afford to love anyone. Few could, in Tevinter.

 

I continued to make flirting comments ('tis my very nature) but was careful to make no true invitation. The elf had noticed the change and we resumed friendly banter. With the shift in focus, we got to know each other better.

 

Since we both fought from a distance, we naturally spent a lot of time together on the field. He was a beast with a bow and played dirty. His favourite trick was to snipe enemies from impossible heights -he'd climb a tree, or spot them far below as we descended the mountains, or he'd scale a wall so high we couldn't see him. With his sharp vision far better than a man's, it was almost unsportsmanlike. He once took out an entire camp of bandits from on top a waterfall. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Oh, how they scrambled, their arrows never reaching as far as his. He and gravity make for a cruel combination. Don't get me started on those traps... 

 

For all his philanthropy, Iljrene didn't turn out to be the naïve, little ray of sunshine I had initially thought. He had a borderline pessimistic, yet realistic way of thinking. He'd rather plan for the absolute worst scenario and be pleasantly surprised later than give in to optimism. He surprised me with his dry sense of humour with expert delivery. His self-deprecating humour balances out my egotism nicely.

 

Our bond grew out of mutual respect and camaraderie, nothing more.

 

And if I should favour him with my protective spells or choose his company in the towns, well... He _is_ the Inquisitor. Someone that cute isn't expendable. 


	2. Beneath the Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iljrene's POV, circa Haven

_**Everyone**_ warned me about him, people I've learned to trust, whose opinions mattered to me. But I saw something beneath the feathers of that peacock. Dorian wouldn't have saved me from that awful future if he wanted to hurt the cause or me. It was the perfect and easiest time to destroy the whole Inquisition, to hand the world to the Elder One, and there wouldn't have been any witnesses.

 

So, at the very least, he didn't want the world destroyed.

 

We arrived in the middle of him trying to stop someone he cared about from hurting others, from helping destroy the world to his own country's gain. That takes great strength. 

 

He's arrogant, vain, and delights in intellectually massacring all around him, but he is more than that. He's strong, loyal, passionate and cares deeply. He's really rather sweet, if you can get him to be serious for a moment. 

 

Dorian is a great man -maybe even a good one.

 

He doesn't even really play up the “Evil Tevinter Magister” mask. He merely recites what everyone expects him to be: cruel and horrible, but he never has been. Spoiled, insufferable, but never unkind. Not intentionally.

 

It didn't take us long to have our first disagreement. Oh, how I wanted to slap that fucking mustache off his face for his views on slavery! But later, he aplogised. His whole upbringing and worldview couldn't change immediately, but he started to learn, to take interest in a solution. He's humble enough to admit when he's wrong. Or perhaps he's too prideful to stand imperfection, so he corrects it. 

 

I know he enjoys being pretty and the finer things, those aren't the mask. But he hides behind his wit and sarcasm. Never wants to be serious or let someone get close. Not that any have tried. 

 

Those at Haven part when he walks by, as if a snake emerged from the grass. He sits alone at the tavern and retreats to his quarters. He's treated with suspicion and outright malice, and all he's ever done was help. 

 

I know how that feels. 

 

I'd like to be the friend he surely needs. 


	3. Haven

Haven burned.

 

Dorian kept to the rear, holding a barrier with Solas to protect everyone fleeing into the tunnel. As the last of the stragglers ran through, hostiles began to swarm. It was time to retreat.

 

Dorian caught himself praying to see snowy hair following. Any second...

 

“We have to leave,” Cullen barked.

 

Solas looked stricken (oddly guilty?) “If we could wait a bit more-”

 

“The enemy breaks through as we speak. If we don't close this tunnel, we die,” the Captain said.

 

“Iljrene...” Dorian bit his lip. “And what happens to your precious Inquisition if _he_ dies?”

 

The spirit boy, Cole, walked out towards the sparks and flames. “I will help him.”

 

In a blink, he was gone.

“Can he-?”

 

“We will trust him. We must,” Solas declared. “He's our best hope, Dorian. ”

 

“How will the Herald find us?” Cullen asked.

 

“Trust Cole,” Solas stressed each word. “If we're still alive to find, the spirit will bring him to us.”

 

Dorian grit his teeth but dropped the barrier. The mages stepped back and collapsed the tunnel behind them.

 

“That will at least buy us some time.”

 

“Let us go,” Solas said and followed Cullen down the dimly lit path. “We must get everyone to safety. I know where we can go.”

 

\---

 

 

Dorian paced their makeshift camp. A dismal number of survivors milled around mindlessly completing tasks, all shocked and functioning automatically, as they had been for hours.

 

Cole hadn't come back. Iljrene hadn't come back.

 

Dorian couldn't remember a time when hope hurt this much. The crack of the last trebuchet had thundered through Haven. The following roar of the avalanche had been deafening. They were lucky to have sealed the tunnel before the snow could rush in and bury them. Was Iljrene lucky too?

 

It was freezing, but Dorian didn't stand near the fire. He would not allow that many people to see him vulnerable like this and it was simply too tiring to wear the mask right now.

 

World-wisened Varric approached and stood silently next to him. Dorian really wanted to be left alone, but Varric was probably the only other person at Haven who was friendly to him.

 

“It's gotten dark,” Dorian said moodily.

 

“I'm sure he's alive,” the dwarf offered. “Honestly? With all that I've seen, seems the universe wouldn't let someone that interesting die so anticlimactically. “

 

“The archedemon and dragon aren't enough for the gods?” Dorian scoffed.

 

“No, it's just...” he shrugged. “It's too early. It's not quite the end of the world yet.”

 

“It would be an awfully short story.” Dorian sighed. “How long has it been?”

 

“About a day.”

 

“How long does it take a person to freeze to death?”

 

“...depends. Look, Vint, you've been standing here for hours. Why not-”

 

Something stirred against the falling snow. A clumsy figure shambled into view.

 

“There!” Dorian darted forward before the dwarf even could register movement.

 

Cullen and Cassandra snapped to attention and ran to aid them. 

 

“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra ran up with him just as the elf sank to his knees.

 

Dorian shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it around the elf, heaving him to his feet. “Iljrene, you fool!”

 

“D'ri'n,” he slurred, his head dropping, barely conscious. “Wher'd...th' song...nn.” he collapsed back to his knees.

 

Cullen and Dorian each wrapped an arm around the Inquisitor and rushed him to a cot by the fire.

 

“What was that about... a song?” Dorian puzzled. “Is he delirious?”

 

“It was a trail.” Cole appeared in the middle of group (or had he been there the whole time?), looking slightly pleased with himself. “I told you I can help.”

 

“You sang to him?” Solas asked, curious.

 

“Dalish travel songs. Children's hymns of home. To lead him here. Make him feel hope.”

 

“Could've just walked _with_ him,” Varric said and clapped him on the shoulder. “That's a roundabout method, but nice work, Kid.”

 

Cole smiled and wandered off, muttering thoughts as he received them.

 

\------

 

Those sky coloured eyes were open long before any real recognition came. Dorian worried briefly that the elf had suffered some blow to the head or lack of oxygen that ruined his awareness. But gradually, colour returned to his face and the unnerving slow blinks gave way to a more clear expression.

 

“There you are,” Dorian smiled when Iljrene truly met his eyes. “Welcome back to the world of the doomed.”

 

Iljrene frowned and looked around at the makeshift camp. The bare-boned shelters were made from hastily thrown together palettes covered in skins and furs that barely broke the wind.

 

He was shivering badly now, which the mage supposed was better than being still like the dead.

 

“Don't you love the new scenery? Haven was getting a bit drab, so your barbaric companions figured we'd burn it down. Start from scratch and take the whole town camping.”

 

“Is everyone...?”

 

“I'll catch you up. Most of the settlement escaped, thanks to _you_. Cole said you set off the avalanche that buried half the army and stopped the rest from advancing. You fell down some mine shaft where he found you unconscious. I guess he wanted to respect your need for independence and lured you with song down the mountain rather than hold your hand the whole way. His methods are... curious.

 

“There's been some chatter of where to go from Solas. We'll move on as soon as the worst of the wounded are travel ready.” Or dead, Dorian thought to himself, but the unreasonable elf would only take that to be his fault somehow. “Questions? Comments? Concerns? I can be quite the secretary.”

 

“Are.. you okay?”

 

“Quite unharmed, Iljrene. Not much a fan of the “refugee” look, and I _so_ look forward to getting somewhere that won't freeze Andraste's tits off. Thank you.. for your concern.”

 

“Hm.” The elf sat up, slowly, with help. “Thanks for... the embellished update.”

 

He still sounded groggy.

 

“And how does our Herald fare?”

 

Iljrene frowned at the moniker. “Cold.”

 

“Couldn't have guessed.”

 

“I'm really fine I just... it was strange. You said Cole was with me? That boy... I never saw him. I kept thinking of songs the children of the clan would sing. Kept hearing them. 'They're just ahead, a little further. Can't you hear? Keep going.' Things like that.” Iljrene had a puzzled expression, a mix of wonder and sadness. “Never thought I'd hear those again.”

 

It grew quiet. Unsure of what to say, Dorian nudged another fur shawl at the elf.

 

“Get some rest, my friend.” Quietly, he added, “I'm happy you're back.”

 

 


	4. Skyhold -A Moment of Camaraderie

**Skyhold**

 

The abandoned castle on the mountain had been a welcome sight after trekking slowly through the frozen Frostbacks. Even though much of the fortress had deteriorated, most of the outer walls held firm. The fireplaces were more or less in tact, and the refugees from Haven wasted no time lighting flames and banishing the cold from their bones.

 

Cullen and Cassandra were quick to bring order and split everyone into groups to begin cleaning, unloading and organising. Leliana's people scattered to explore and map every inch of the castle and report to Josephine to assign lodgings and offices. They hoped to have relative order before nightfall.

  

There was much work to be done, but the survivors of Haven were filled with hope and relief and worked joyously to claim the castle as home.

 

 

\---------

 

  

Dust, debris and disrepair. That summed up the castle nicely, Dorian thought. The mage had followed Iljrene into the main hall of the fortress. The elf had volunteered to “survey the castle” with Leliana's agents, but with the way he buzzed with energy, Dorian knew it was purely to satisfy his own curiosity and need for adventure.

  

Ren bounded across fallen beams and broken furniture as gracefully as a halla trotted up mountains. His bare feet left deep imprints in the years of accumulated dust. He would be absolutely filthy before long. Dorian hoped they found baths...

  

Ren found a stairwell blocked by a collapsed arch and tried hopping around, peering as far as he could around the obstruction.

  

“A moment,” Dorian said and stepped forward. His hands glowed with magic as he moved the debris with fine control back to its rightful place.

  

Ren whistled. “That's handy.”

  

“Yes, 'handy' is the level of excellence I strive for,” Dorian tutted.

  

“This looks like it goes up a ways,” Iljrene said. “We've been hiking all day. You don't have to come with me.”

  

“And miss the chance to find new, unexplored dust up countless stairs? How could I pass it up?”

  

Ren rolled his eyes but didn't seem surprised when Dorian followed him anyway. There wasn't much to see going up the stairs, just the odd window to break up the monotony and let in some light. Some of the landings were impassable without magic or several hands, but Iljrene continued upward, intent to reach the top. They had been hiking for two days, yet he bounced up with renewed energy. He had a childlike excitement Dorian had never seen from him.

  

So he indulged him, followed the sprightly thing until his legs were like lead and his lungs burned.

  

They reached the end, finally and found a spacious, round room full of stale air and cobwebs. It was freezing. Beyond the large windows they could see a balcony, and Ren nearly raced to opened the doors.

  

At the highest point in the fortress, the wind was biting. It looked like this was the destination the elf had hoped for, and they weren't leaving any time soon. Dorian picked a spot least covered with bird shit and sat, his legs screaming their thanks at the rest.

  

“We're up so high...,” Ren lent over the edge, gaping at where the world plunged beneath them. “It's breathtaking.”

  

“You act like you've never been in a castle before.”

  

“I've _seen_ them. My clan always travelled as far from humans as we could, unless we needed to trade. We went to small villages, some taverns.”

   
“Oh, good, so you _do_ know what indoors are like.”

  

“But never any place so _huge_. We explored ruins, elvhen ones, as children, played pretend... All the stories the little ones tell each other... This is like exploring childhood dreams.” Ren blushed lightly and asked sheepishly, “Wouldn't you be excited to see something you've always been curious about?”

  

Dorian's family estate in Qarinus was larger than Skyhold. Most of the Magisterium owned lands and structures larger and more elaborate. This fortress was build for functionality, not to impress nobles. He'd much rather learn the history of why in the nine hells this place was _here_.

  

Still, the view _was_ amazing. Dorian hadn't been in the best of spirits when he first left Tevinter and hadn't properly taken in the sights. Even when his family travelled, they never went to mountains. They'd only left Tevinter twice, when foreign relations were somewhat less hostile.

  

“I suppose so,” Dorian shivered and pulled his robe tighter to him. It was lovely and all, but seeing the elf bent over the balcony wasn't so bad either.

  

After soaking in the beauty of the mountain, Ren gracefully plopped next to Dorian.

  

“So... what is your favourite colour?” the elf asked.

  

“Beg pardon?”

  

“Colour. Your favourite.”

  

“Why?”

  

“I'd like to get to know you better.”

  

“Tch! How mundane,” Dorian scoffed. “A colour tells you next to nothing about a person. I'm not interested in such boring, superficial small talk.”

  

Iljrene frowned, looking caught somewhere between offended and hurt.

  

“I want to get to know you too,” Dorian said, softer. “The _real_ , _intimate_ you. What makes you feel accomplished? Do you believe in second chances? What was your most exhilarating moment? When did you last break someone's heart? Beer or wine? See? The important things. Try again.”

  

Iljrene shook his head, muttered what sounded like “pompous arse” but thought on it. “What do you think of when you're alone?” he asked quietly.

  

“Better,” Dorian smirked. He took a moment to reflect on his answer. “I think of home, a lot. What I miss, what made me leave. I think, 'what am I _doing_ here? I must be mad!' I think of how bloody cold it is here, even when it's not snowy.”

  

With a wink, he added, “I think of that cute elf I want to spend time with. And you?”

 

“Home,” Iljrene smiled, a bit sadly. “How different things are. How different... _I_ am.”

  

Dorian waited for him to elaborate, but the elf just shook his head. The pale one changed topics. “If you could be any animal, which would you be and why?”

  

Dorian barked a short laugh. _Of course_ he'd ask something naturey. “A peacock, clearly.”

  

“Be serious.”

  

“I was raised to be charming, not sincere,” Dorian smirked. “I supposed... as a child, I'd pretend to be a dragon. It was as with all Tevinter children; we all wanted to be the big, scary, powerful dragons that our country revered so much. We'd pretend to smash Qunari invaders, to level enemy cities. Now... I suppose still a dragon, but the meaning has changed. They're powerful, but power is more than brute strength. It's influence, respect, the power to _change_. The wings mean freedom to fly, to leave, to return. And they are beautiful.”

  

“It suits you,” Ren nodded. He had this fond look in his eyes that made Dorian panic and enthralled him.

  

“And you, Ren?”

  

“A hart,” he answered. “Big enough to discourage predators, powerful enough to protect myself and others, but a peaceful being that tries to harm none. Graceful. Free to roam the forests and mountains.”

  

“I see we have much in common,” Dorian smiled.

  

“How so?”

  

“We both favour freedom and have chosen solitary animals. Yet we both miss home, and from the way you sounded, it doesn't seem like you can just waltz back when this is all over either.”

  

Iljrene didn't answer, but turned his wistful gaze back beyond the balcony.

  

The two traded answers to more questions, shared light stories until the sun disappeared. Dorian was shivering like mad when he finally stood, bones cracking angrily at him for being seated on the hard, cold surface for too long.

  

“My poor, summer child out here in the cold,” Iljrene lamented. “It's my turn to get you some place warm.”

  

“With edible food as well, I should hope.” Dorian paused. “Ren.”

  

The elf turned back to him, eyebrow quirked in question. Dorian sashayed close and ghosted his fingers across the vallaslin, tracing up to the elf's eyes.

  

“My favourite colour is blue.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, if anyone was wondering about the tacky title, it's a track from the Crisis Core soundtrack, and well... Iljrene has blue eyes and I couldn't think of anything else to call this, haha! XD


	5. Last Resort of Good Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian POV, companion quest

Damn him.

  
Damn _me_ for being so blind. I hadn't thought the man was capable of subterfuge, yet he led me blindly to an emotional slaughter. I should have seen through it, but I admit I may have become a bit taken with him; maybe those feelings have put a cloud over my judgement. I was flattered and intrigued that he wanted to go alone with me all the way to Redcliffe. I was thrilled to think he wanted to spend time with me.

  
I suppose it means more this way. After the heated moment passed, I could see that he truly meant no harm – moreover he meant to help me. I _am_ touched by his concern. He didn't drag me out for a pint, he helped me reconcile a great pain. That's... far more personal and devoted than I had considered. Such a gesture...  
A bit of a warning would have been nice, but we both know I wouldn't have gone. Too full of pride.

 

And shame.

  
In the end, Father and I were able to make peace. Seems he does care about me after all. I still can't forgive him for trying to change me, but that doesn't mean I can't try.

 

Iljrene...

 

No one has ever done something like that for me.


	6. No Context Drabble 1

“We'd have been here sooner if our esteemed Inquisitor hadn't unhorsed every five seconds to go prancing through the daisies!”   
“I was procuring valuable herbs and you know it. You're just upset your socks got wet.”  
“Worst sensation in the world.”


	7. Hand Dance 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian POV. Hinterlands.

We were walking together once, close. Too close. It wasn't even intentional. We had been talking and fell into silence and happened to stay near each other. It was the most affectionate I'd ever been in public and we weren't even touching. 

His hand brushed against mine, brief, accidental, but I flinched back and put distance between us before I had even really registered the contact. 

He looked back to me, confused. Bull and Cassandra were ahead and hadn't seen, but of course Varric with his short legs was slower and stopped with us. He quickly passed us up with a carefully neutral expression, bless him. 

“Sorry,” I whispered once the dwarf was out of earshot.

Ren looked slightly hurt, but only for a second before it morphed into pity and understanding. 

“You know I wouldn't do anything you were uncomfortable with,” he reminded me. “Not on purpose.”

“I know.” I chewed at my bottom lip, frustrated. We weren't even doing anything. No one here would care, even if it were otherwise. But here we are, in the middle of Gods damned Nowhere Forest, and here I was worried of how the bears and sheep would perceive us. 

“I swear, the nugs squeak and all I hear is 'dishonour on your family!'” I sighed and raked my hand over my face. “Since when have I cared about appearances?”

“Dorian, it's okay.”

“It's not though. I'm not ashamed of you, I want you to know that.” I sighed, shook my head. “This isn't a good place to discuss this.”

“No,” Ren quietly agreed. “As long as you don't treat me like I've been touched by blight, it's okay.”

He smiled, soft and comforting, trying to make me feel better but his kindness and understanding only made the guilt worse. He's too damned good for me. 

“Come on,” Ren said. “Let's catch up.” 

Heavier than I had been before, I followed.


	8. Party Banter 1 : Sera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Sera chat

“Sera, why haven’t you signed up for the archery contest?” Dorian asked. “You live in the tavern. You must know of it.”  
  


“Not interested.”

 

“What’s wrong? Afraid of public humiliation,” he teased.

 

“Psh. I could shoot the fuzz off your arse.”

 

“Then why not enter? It’d be easy winnings,” Dorian wondered.

 

“Varric isn’t allowed. Ren won’t join cuz he’s all Big and doesn’t think people will go against him. Everyone else is shite, so it’s no fun, innit?”

 

“Scout Harding will be competing.”

 

“Oh? Din’ know that. Thought she’d be out… scouting, or something.”

 

“I hear she’s single and has a thing for obnoxious, titted blondes.”

 

“Ohhh….heyyyyy. <3”

 

“You’re welcome. I’m sure shaving my arse for all to see will woo her in true romantic fashion.”


	9. Habits -Restless Leg Syndrome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have so much written for these two but none of it is organized. Ach.

The table was shaking. No one said a word about it, but Cullen's eyebrows kept twitching. Cassandra's lips were pursed and Josephine had her most diplomatic neutral mask on, which meant she was thoroughly annoyed.

 

They could ignore it (or try _very hard_ to appear like they were ignoring it) but the slight rattling of the table and the rapid, successive thumping of Iljrene's leg bouncing up and down against the leg of wood was driving him insane.

 

“Well,” Dorian scootched his chair back and stood, “I'm getting off this rocking ship before I get seasick.”

 

Ren looked up at him quizzically, then followed everyone's pointed stares to his leg,

 

“Oh.” His foot stilled, but then it became uncomfortable and he started bouncing his leg again. As it rubbed against the table, the noise and slight shaking resuming with it.

 

“Nervous tick?” Leliana asked gently.

 

“Er... yes,” Iljrene blushed. “Gets worse with boredom and stress.”

 

“We're almost finished anyhow,” Cullen offered. “If you'd like to leave, we can handle the rest of the plans ourselves.”

 

“I'll send you reports later,” Cassandra nodded, clearly, but not unkindly, dismissing him. 

 

It was the most civil "get the fuck out" Dorian had ever heard. 

 

Iljrene nodded gratefully and rose.

 

“Come,” Dorian said and with a friendly arm on his back guided the elf out of the war room. “Let's find a way to _expend_ some of that energy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm getting off this ship" is something my Dad said once when my sister and I both were bouncing our legs under the table. XD   
> It's a symptom of my anxiety to do this. I don't always notice I'm doing it until I think, "what's that noise?" and my leg will still. "Oh, it's me.."


	10. Habits - Dorian

He'd been reading all day. The research opportunities and resources were endless with the Inquisition, and Dorian found himself taking every chance to learn for both his benefit and for the cause.

 

But sitting still so long left him stiff.

 

Dorian stood and flexed his fingers.

 

SSSSNAAPP

 

All of the joints in his fingers cracked with satisfying pops.

 

His broad shoulders rolled and he whipped his neck to the left.

 

CRACK

 

Then to the right.

 

CRIICK

 

The sound was deep and loud, and he sighed in pure bliss... and opened his eyes to Ren gaping at him in abject horror.

 

“Dorian, are you all right?”

 

“Wonderful, Ren.”

 

“How was nothing _broken_?”

 

Dorian chuckled, a bit off guard. “What? Elves don't stretch?”

 

“We _stretch._ We don't _rearrange_ our bones all willy-nilly!”

 

With a disgusted noise that would make Cassandra proud, Iljrene shuddered away from him. “For my heart's sake, don't do that near me, vhenan!”

 

“No promises,” Dorian laughed and twisted his back for another dull, deep crack.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think my roommate's neck will break off with how loud he cracks it. My girlfriend pops her knuckles so loud sometimes I can hear it from across the house. 
> 
> I pop my back and wrists on occasion, but it's never loud. That's how I imagine the elves do it, in my headcannon. A quiet sensation that's felt, but not loud and heard by everyone in the room. Their joints tend to be in better shape than humans, even in their later years.


	11. Enchanting Clothing

Dorian's clothes were magic -they _had_ to be, Ren thought. For a man wearing 90% leather straps, he moved too freely. New leather was noisy. Iljrene's prowler coat had been well worn and softened with a Dalish conditioner, but Dorian's clothes looked too new to make as little noise as they did. Actually, it seemed he made as much or as little noise as he pleased at any given moment.  
  


When they were trying to sneak passed or up on hostiles, Dorian was near silent. But in some meetings, particularly ones with Orlesian dignitaries, his clothes creaked and squeaked as if intentionally grating on people's nerves.  
  


Iljrene had half a mind to ask but didn't want to ruin the image of Dorian carefully crafting a spell to enchant his clothes for maximum annoyance and noise control. It was just the level of petty showiness and practicality that Ren expected of the mage.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't broken-in my leather coat yet and I get annoyed with how much noise it makes.  
> Dorian wouldn't take the time to condition and break-in his clothes. Can't be out in public and ruin his image of impeccable fashion by sounding like a rocking-horse with rickets. No, that would make him seem common.  
> I figure he'd use magic, and if he's going to put that much thought into creating a spell, why not go all-out? XD


	12. Clucking Hen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rant about a Chantry Mother.

Iljrene was never overly fond of Mother Giselle. He didn't hate her, but she never seemed to respect his difference in religion to hers. Everything was the “Maker's Will.” _His_ choices, not Ren's. _His_ divine outcome, not Ren's efforts and hardships _._ She'd tell Iljrene over and over how blessed he was by the Chantry god, how he speaks for Andraste, even though Ren told her from the beginning that he didn't believe in the gods. He never _wanted_ any of this, but apparently he should be grateful.

 

It was hard enough being held up as a religious icon for humans as it is, let alone having people disrespect his beliefs to his face, _knowing_ how he feels. No matter how many times he politely corrected her, she always treated him like a child. 'He doesn't know better now, but he will.' Sometimes he wanted to stuff her stupid hat right into her condescending mouth! It felt like she'd never stop trying to push her ideals and convert him.

 

When she said Dorian's father had sent her, _her_ specifically, a letter, it rubbed him the wrong way. Why would a Tevinter Magister contact a Chantry Reverend Mother, with whom their own religious sect was in contention? How would he even know she was there? Iljrene knew Giselle was a good person who had helped a great many people, but she wasn't perfect. Maybe she had tried to suss out Dorian's character by seeking out his family. Ren didn't think she meant harm, but that doesn't mean harm wasn't dealt. He had no proof, and it didn't matter much with all that was going on, but he still wondered.

 

Now, after forcing a reunion with his father and putting Dorian in a delicate state, she was back to meddling. Ren could hear them bickering as he climbed the stairs to the library. He could feel Dorian's snark and her exasperation before he made it to the landing.

 

Dorian didn't need help fighting his battles. His quick wit always defeated anyone who challenged him. But Ren hated that he had to defend himself so often.

 

It was hard being the odd one out, and Ren was going to stand in his corner every time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have quite a bit written for this fic, but I have to get a couple other chapters out first that I'm just not pleased with.


	13. First Kiss

Dorian turned to him. “I don't know if you're aware, but the assumption in some corners is that you and I are... intimate.”

 

Ren tried to stay matter of fact and suss out Dorian's expression. “That's not the worst assumption they could have, is it?”

 

The mage was _unflappable_ _ **,**_ _ **“**_ I don't know. Is it?”

 

Slightly frustrated, Ren asked, “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

  
  


“Would you like me to answer in some other fashion?”

  
  


It was a challenge if Ren had ever heard one. He scoffed. “If you're capable.”

  
  


With how sternly Dorian started towards him, Ren was afraid he'd made him angry. But a second later, Dorian's lips were on his and a gentle hand guided his chin up to greet him. Petal soft, he tasted of wine, his movements determined but not salacious. Dorian broke the kiss, still a breath away and tutted.

  
Dorian: "If you're capable." The nonsense you speak.”

  
  


His breath was warm against Ren's lips, still tingling with lingering heat. He kept his eyes closed to savour the moment as he spoke, “You realize this makes the rumours somewhat true?”

  
  


“Evidently. We might have to explore the full truth of them later. In private.”

  
  


The peacock strut away without looking back, leaving the Inquisitor in a happy daze, chasing him with his gaze.

  
  


“We certainly will.”

 


	14. Varric Tavern

The tavern wasn't bustling this time of day. Bull's raucous chargers made more noise in their corner than all the other patrons combined.

Dorian kept to himself at the bar, brooding over a cheap Ferelden beer.

 

“So, Sparkler.” Varric planted himself on the chair next to the mage with his tankard. “I heard you sent the Chantry Mother with her tail between her legs.”

 

“It's uncouth for a cleric to gossip.”

 

“Didn't think a little gossip would bother you, our token Tevinter Nobleman.”

 

“She was spreading rumours about _Ren_ ,” Dorian stressed. “I know what they say about me -their whispers are louder than they think. But _him_? After all he's done? The nerve...”

 

“Ah. Well, those were either juicy or malicious, what I heard.”

 

“Do I want to hear them?”

 

“Probably not. Might please you to know that those who started them have their interest raised on their Wicked Grace debts.”

 

Dorian smiled into his drink. “Thanks, Varric.”

 

“No problem. You seem good for each other. Surprising couple... almost as strange as a hole in the sky.”

 

“I _do_ like to put on a show.”

 

 


	15. Love language: gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian POV

 Iljrene shows his affections with actions and sweet gestures. 

They came out of nowhere, and it was quite new to me. 

We'd be trudging through a swamp and that night I'd find a dry pair of socks on my bedroll.

After travelling for days in the wilderness, my canteen would be magically refilled with something sweeter than water.

There was always a new book waiting in his quarters for me.

For the life of me, I can't figure out how he managed to keep a slab of blueberry goat cheese from spoiling during a trek through Western Approach before it found itself into my pack. After not seeing civilization for weeks, the indulgence was well appreciated.

He never said anything about the gifts. If I tried to thank him, he'd shrug it off, or make a joke to deflect. I thought  _I_ wasn't good at speaking from the heart, but Iljrene ran from it further than I. He gets so flustered and embarrassed. He's quite cute the way he blushes up to his ears (it's become a personal challenge to see how red I can make him turn). 

The sweetest and slightly infuriating gifts are little shapes and animals made from folded paper. I can tell they have writing inside, but I haven't the heart to unfold them without knowing how to put them back to rights. They appear quite complicated. 

He's a sneaky bastard. They could all say "Dorian is a cock" for all I know. Are they prayers, or sweet nothings? Lewd or flirty? 

I enjoy the mystery. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My girlfriend has a small stack of origami I've made her with things I don't feel comfortable telling her. XD They are wishes for her, sappy statements, and a couple jokes.


	16. Bored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was so bored at work I wrote about being bored. XD

Iljrene was bored. It was a rare feeling as of late, a privilege to be cherished. He hadn't had time to be bored since the Conclave.

 

Still... bored.

 

He had explored every inch of Skyhold in the two months since they'd arrived. He'd read two books, played his fiddle, ran laps on the bridge with Krem and trained with Bull. That had been hours ago. Everyone else had been busy and told him to shoo.

 

He wasn't quite desperate enough to tell Sera he was bored though. The pranks with her had been fun, but it wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat. He felt guilty enough, harmless as they were..

 

Since breakfast, Dorian had been focused on Alexius's research, reviewing it for errors or sabotage. He had been eager for the task and his insight and own research had proven to be invaluable to the Inquisition.

 

Ren had left him alone so far but... well... it was okay to be occasionally selfish, right?

 

The mage was nose deep in papers stacked on a stolen end-table in his claimed nook.

 

“How's it coming?” Ren asked by way of greeting.

 

“Fine.” Dorian didn't look up for the brisk reply.

 

“Just “fine”?”

 

“I said as much.”

 

“Ooh, cranky. So it's not fine, is it?”

 

That got the mage's eyes to leave the page. He quirked an eyebrow, then sighed. “I suppose it's... at a dead end. Our time magic was only possible because of this mess with the fade. I had hoped it would yield more practical results now that we understand where we'd gone wrong...”

 

Dorian sighed again and set the paper neatly on top of the others. “I keep looking too closely, over-thinking. Stress'll do that.”

 

“Need a break?” Ren offered, failing miserable not to appear too keen to pull Dorian away for himself.

 

“I suppose, if the man in charge is offering a distraction.”

 

“I'm valiantly sacrificing my free time with truly altruistic intent,” Ren bowed.

 

“Bullshit, but okay. Let's go.”

 

They played some “pit and pebbles” board game Dorian had tucked away in his armoire and drank fancy Tevinter teas, wiling away the hours together, work and boredom left behind.

 


	17. Cole Banter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian POV

 

"He could have been a person,” Cole pondered aloud on evening.

 

“What's that?” Dorian asked.

 

“Varric said that. After I became more what I am. “He could have been a person”.”

 

“Varric said that?” Dorian was taken aback. The dwarf adored Cole. He had been one of the few to immediately accept him.

 

“You _are_ a person,” Dorian said, surprising himself how much he meant it.

 

“I thought so. At least, for a while. But I'm not,” Cole said, matter of fact, but also a bit regretful.

 

“You're not human, that much is true,” the mage clarified. “But you are your own thinking, feeling being. That's what makes someone a person, not your flesh.”

 

Cole's eyes brightened and he smiled at Dorian in awe. “I can be both?”

 

“Err.... Yes?”

 

“I'm so glad! Thank you!” Cole said emphatically. “That way, you can remember me, after.”

 

“I'll thank you for that,” Dorian sighed, meaning he would like his memories to be unaltered, thanks so much... But he was glad to have met Cole. He was a sweet boy and had made him re-evaluate his specialization.

 

Dorian had never abused spirits, but he hadn't seen them as anything other than tools. Now, he used them with respect and regard to their wills and purpose. He thanked them, and he thanked Cole for showing him. He'd remember the boy fondly, if they survived all this.

 

Cole was still beaming at him, and Dorian realised the boy must have heard that.

 

He gripped Cole's shoulder firmly. “Yes, puppy, I'll thank you not to eavesdrop.”

 


	18. Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More chapters in the works. Just a bit of fluffy while I try to fix the ending of the next one. I'm rubbish at endings...

Dorian looked strangely vulnerable. “I... apologise if I make mistakes. I've never been in a relationship before. I know how to charm a man out of their knickers but... all this? It's so foreign I can barely accept it.”

 

“Had you never even been close to anyone?” Ren gently stroked his thumb over Dorian's hand.

 

“There was one man -well, we were boys, really. We were young and not as brave. It... didn't end gracefully. That was one of the motivations for me to stop giving a shit about how I'm supposed to be and celebrate what I am.”

 

“I'm sorry you were hurt.”

 

“I'm not. If that's what it took for me to meet you, it was worth it.”

 

“Careful, Dorian. That sounded syrupy.”

 


	19. Quali-tea time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have tormented my friend at the tea shop with my terrible puns...

“When you asked me to have a drink with you guys... er... this wasn't what I pictured,” said the Iron Bull.

 

Truly, the dainty teacup looked ridiculous in the massive Qunari's hand.

 

Dorian's friend, Maevaris, had sent him a care package of exotic and spicy teas and sweets from Tevinter.

 

“You need to learn to appreciate drinks that have flavours other than ' _burn_ ',” Dorian said.

 

“Nothing wrong with a bit of fire in the gullet,” Bull said and took a sip (only the temperature kept him from downing the entire cup in one gulp).

 

“Just hush and enjoy the tiny cakes,” Ren chided and popped a date filled sweet into his mouth.

 

“Sorry if I don't appreciate things of higher... quali- _tea_ ,” Bull said with a sly wink to Iljrene.

 

Subtly, they gauged Dorian's reaction. His eye had twitched.

 

“That's because you're too _pu-erh_ ,” Ren smirked.

 

Dorian groaned.

 

“What's _oolong_ with you, Vint?”

 

“You two are the worst,” Dorian huffed.

 

“Don't _chai_ , love,” Ren purred and tried to peck Dorian's cheek, but the mage wasn't having it. “You won't have to put up with this _matcha_ longer.”

 

Dorian palmed Ren's cheek and pushed him away. “Leave me alone.”

 

“Okay, we'll _leaf_ you alone.”

 

“Guaran- _tea_ it,” Bull nodded, his grin at shit-eating levels. “Don't want you to _seep_ in your misery.”

 

“Vishante kaffas. I hate you both,” Dorian was spitting like an angry cat, “and you already used “tea” as a pun. If you're going to agonise me with your gods-awful jokes, at least be _creative_.”

 

“I like things to come full circle,” Bull shrugged.

 

“Ugh.”

 

“You know you love us,” Ren laughed.

 

Dorian tutted petulantly, and took an angry sip. “No. You've ruined this. The night is ruined.”

 

“I think you meant “improved,” Bull suggested. “We should have brought Varric.”

 

“The two of you are bad enough on your own. Though, I wouldn't mind his stories right about now. I have one that would give him a run for his money! Once, at the Circle....”

 

…

 

The three traded stories and ideas as they drank. Though he fussed, Ren could tell Dorian was enjoying himself (maybe not the puns..). He was relaxed. Dorian made three more pots: two spiced teas with milk and one fruity, white tea.

 

The warm of the cups spreading into his hands was calming and the smells reminded him of home.

 

“The cardamom one is delicious,” Iljrene smiled, having drank most of it by himself.

 

“I'll be sure to order some,” Dorian promised, pleased that Ren shared his appreciation.

 

Dalish had tea, of course, but they tended to be simple herbal teas. Most of them were medicinal, but not unappetising.

 

Bull drained the rest of his cup and sighed. “Aaahh. A bit fru-fru, but I have to admit it's tasty. This was nice -for a tea party.” His smile turned sheepish. “Maybe don't tell my boys about this though. I've never hear the end of it.”

 

“Wouldn't dream of using that as leverage against you,” Dorian dead-panned. “Blackmail is _certainly_ beyond my character.”

 

“Fucking _Vints_ ,” Bull laughed his way out the door.

 

Dorian fondly pat Ren's hair. “I don't know what else I expected from the two of you.”

 

“Certainly not some academic Salon,” Ren smirked.

 

“A Ceylon Salon.”

 

“Oh, so puns are okay so long as _you're_ making them?”

 

“I suppose you're influencing me - _terribly._ ”

 

“Is it _undue_?” Ren mimicked Dorian's words from earlier.

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Ren chucked and kissed him sweetly, the man's lips warm and tasting of spices.

 


	20. Depressive Mood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iljrene has depression. Dorian comforts.  
> I heard some background character talking shit at Skyhold. Still not sure if I heard it correctly, but I am still like, bitch, say what???

Iljrene had days of low moods. He was quiet to being with, but when he grew depressed., the words just wouldn't come. At his worst, he was almost completely non-verbal until he could shake himself out of the state. Sometimes they were triggered by an event, but at other times, the bad days came at random. Ilren just seemed to get trapped in his mind. Dorian hated how useless he felt when those moods came.

 

Sometimes he'd just sit with Ren on the Inquisitor's couch and read, an arm over Ren's shoulders while the elf processed whatever had made him shut down. He'd just sit still, sometimes shaking. Crying was a good sign; his emotions were breaking free and it was almost over.

 

Weather permitting, they'd go for a walk or a ride to somewhere isolated and peaceful. Nature brought Ren out of a funk quicker than anything, and usually without tears.

 

Today, Dorian found him lent over his balcony, gripping the stone tightly and watching people moving about in the garden below. He looked blank.

 

“Iljrene...” Dorian went to stand beside him, not sure what sort of mood this would be yet. Touch, or don't touch? Company, or space? “What do you need?”

 

Ren shook his head and snaked an arm around Dorian's waist. Dorian rubbed soothing circles on the slight elf's back and felt some of the tension slowly drain away.

 

“Shall we go for a ride?” Dorian asked after a while.

 

Another shake. “I overheard some talk,” the ranger said quietly. “I was selling some of our spoils from the Stormcoast to the merchant when I heard them. Rumours are circulating that Corypheus' orb is elven. They're already blaming elves, saying I'm only doing this to cover our tracks -that Solas and I are complicit. And... other things..”

 

“That didn't take long.”

 

“Solas and I knew this would happen, but I just thought it would be... after.”

 

“It would be some scheme,” Dorian mused. “Use an ancient relic to reshape the world for the Elvhen, and if it fails, take credit for saving Thedas. Either way, elves are saved from enslavement and systematic oppression. Good plan. Too bad it's bullshit.”

 

“It was worse when I first was dragged in as a prisoner. At Haven, Josephine wanted to know about anyone who had... views... on my heritage. But if I do anything, it would just look like a cover up. I thought it would be better after Haven. That they'd trust me.”

 

“Welcome to pariah-hood, Amatus,” Dorian said, aiming for levity but failing. “You're in good company.”

  
  


Iljrene huffed and squeezed his arm tighter.

  
  


"I'm not doing this to prove myself, or to make them respect my people. I'm doing this because it's _right_. We have nothing to prove anyway!" Ren's voice rose and his eyes blazed with rage. "Why should I have to _earn_ respect from shems? To grovel for their approval after everything they've done to us!"

  
  


Quickly as it had come, the anger faded and he shrank, looking tired.

  
  


“I'm sorry, Dorian. It's just... the important thing is to stop Corypheus and seal the rifts. I suppose it doesn't matter if I'm still just a knife ear.”

  
“You were never ' _just_ ' anything, Iljrene.” Dorian's voice was gentle. "What a spirit killing word... 'He can't climb that mountain, he's just a man', 'That's not a diamond, it's just a rock.' Just.

  
You could shake _mountains_ if you wanted. Even if you take away all the Inquisition business, stripped you down to the core, you'd still be a talented, intelligent, _brave_ and caring man. Everyone should aspire to be like you. I'm not saying this to flatter you; it's the truth. I, for one, am better for knowing you.”

  
  


Iljrene smiled, not bashful from the praise, but conciliatory, as if he appreciated but did not believe it.

  
  


He rested his head against Dorian's warm shoulder and sighed.

  
  


“Thank you, Dorian.”

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "just" speech is almost exactly ripped from Finding Neverland. Full quote as follows: 
> 
> Peter: This is absurd. It's just a dog.
> 
> J.M. Barrie: Just a dog? *Just*?
> 
> [to Porthos (the dog)]
> 
> J.M. Barrie: Porthos, don't listen!
> 
> [to Peter]
> 
> J.M. Barrie: Porthos dreams of being a bear, and you want to shatter those dreams by saying he's *just* a dog? What a horrible candle-snuffing word. That's like saying, "He can't climb that mountain, he's just a man", or "That's not a diamond, it's just a rock." Just.


	21. Taste of the Game (racism)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW racism
> 
> Dorian's POV.

Josephine had set up a meeting with some Orlesian nobles to draw up trade agreements and forge new alliances to strengthen the Inquisition. Iljrene brought myself and Vivienne along with the ambassador. It was his first true taste of Orlesian culture -high society, that is.

 

Even had he not been advised to let us do the talking, Iljrene would likely have been reserved anyway. Of course he was polite, but the smiles were always slightly forced and he was more taciturn than usual. He _hated_ the Great Game.

 

I know Iljrene's dry wit and sarcasm would be hit or miss with the Orlesian nobles, but he's not interested in playing games. He'd rather get to the point and be done with it, and that would quickly earn him boredom or disapproval from the court.

 

He didn't like the masks, physical or otherwise. The backstabbing “intrigue” culture of Orlais is antithetical to his core. Not to mention the shite is coming from those largely responsible for the genocide and abuse of his people...

 

“This should go well,” I thought.

 

The meeting was in the office of a mid-tier noble, Marquis Desplat. Not a terrible man- trite and ignorant. He had few men to spare, but would be a valued trade ally.

 

The introductions and opening banter were boring and samey, but necessary. Josephine and Vivienne kept him interested with promises of alliances and glory, making his house well known. He seemed to not know what to think of me, despite my natural charm. Though Orlais and Tevinter ought to bond over the shared system of “everything is legal if you're not caught”, it may not have been politically astute to bring me. I suspect I was really present for moral support.

 

We wined and dined, buttering up the foppish man while reminding him gently of our strength. Luckily, this man responded well to flattery and we didn't have to resort to subtle threats and ambiguities.

 

Bored, I looked around the room while Iljrene finalized the deal.

 

The Marquis had few books (mostly for show) shelved, some opened parcels and messages. A gorgeous, lovingly polished rune lay on the Marquis's desk. It swirled like a storm was kept inside, lighting striking and surging within. It was of superb quality, I could tell from looking. It would be an excellent addition to any weapon.

 

“How eloquent you are, for a rabbit!” Desplat said to Ren.

 

I snapped back to attention. _For a rabbit._.. I cringed.

 

I might have understood that as a complement, once. Now, I recognize the backhanded racism, that even though they _both_ spoke common (and it was _Ren's_ native tongue..), that somehow the Orlesian was inherently better at it. It was only the native tongue of the Elvhen because their own language had been stripped from them and they purged from their land. _This_ land. How quickly Orlesians forgot their debt to the Elvhen. They slaughtered them in Andraste's name, a woman who called them kin...

 

Ren ignored the comment completely and continued on his point, though I saw how his spine went rigid.

 

 

 

I felt for the man. He probably wanted to punch the Marquis's teeth out, but if he burned all his bridges before fighting Corypheus, we'd have no army and no alliances. Once we have _real_ power, he'll sort the bastards out.

 

The meeting ended amicably with a handshake and we were quickly gone. Vivienne stayed behind to make contact with her friends and to confirm the alliances would be honored. The rest of us prepared to return to Skyhold.

 

As soon as we were out of earshot of the town, Josephine broke down in flustered dismay.

 

“I am so sorry, Inquisitor!” she all but wailed and gently hugged him.

 

“It's all right,” Ren assured her. “The important thing is we have made allies. I suspect he said it out of ignorance rather than malice. It's all water under the bridge.”

 

With a cheeky grin, Ren pulled a round object out of his pocket and rolled it in his hand. He gently tossed and caught it a few times before I saw the flicker of a storm whirling inside the sphere.

 

I stopped. Surely not... “Ren...” He looked to me. “Is that...? Where did you get that rune?”

 

“Nicked it off his desk,” he said, unabashed.

 

“You _stole_ it?!”

 

“I _am_ a rogue, Vhenan,” he shrugged. “Dorian, one of the first things I did after I woke up in Haven was pick every lock in the dungeon. I don't make it a habit to steal but...Every skill needs to be practiced sometimes. Keeps you fresh.”

 

“Bullshit,” I tutted, but really, how could I fault him for some harmless, petty revenge?

 

Josephine groaned facepalmed. “ _Inquisitor_... I thought you had taken the high road- “water under the bridge.'”

 

Ren shrugged, the corner of his mouth barely concealing a satisfied smirk. “Well... He was a _right_ prick.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never stole from anyone in Skyrim or Fallout who wasn't a prick.. XD 
> 
> Also, how far Dorian has come! To go from "slavery is okay!" to "ooooh you didn't just say that!"


	22. Port in a Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian  
> (Rushed chapter! I forgot my charging cord and my computer is dying)

Whenever he left his quarters, Dorian found his eyes sought Iljrene more often than not. They had been... _whatever_ they were for some weeks and the joy at his attentions hadn't been fleeting. The differences were mostly subtle. He didn't noticed he'd been smiling more until Cole called him on it.

 

Dorian spent what little spare time they could take playing chess with Cullen, losing money to Varric, or judging people with Vivienne. With Ren, he couldn't care less what they did, so long as it was together. The Inquisitor had people vying for his attention at all hours, so most of the time they spent together was out in the field or Ren doing paperwork.

 

Late in the evening, Dorian would read to the sound of Ren's scratching quill, or he'd rub the elf's shoulders as he read treaties and reports. More often than not he was overseeing Alexius's work or doing his own research and they worked separetely.

 

It was separate, but still together. Not lonely, a companionable silence.

 

He never before had someone he could just enjoy a silence with. It was strange.

 

He loved that he was among the lucky few to really get to know the man behind the Inquisition. The small habits, never to be recorded in the histories. Embarrassing quirks, his pet peeves, the good, bad and ugly.

 

Dorian more than once had caught Ren scratching his nose on his sleeve when he thought no one was looking. Ren had a slight, angry twitch in his eye when someone was chewing loudly around him. Iljrene would stop to pet every cat, dog, halla and nug that would let him near.

 

Dorian found the more of the small things he noticed about Ren, the more he worried about his own habits. What if some of his traits weren't endearing and broke the spell of allure, that maybe Ren would no longer want him?

 

And what of sex? They had something growing between them, shared some kisses, but they'd never been intimate. Dorian was used to one night stands -that was all he was allowed in Tevinter. Even for the occasional game of playing hard to get, things were soon over and everyone moved on.

 

A chilling thought struck him.

 

“What if he doesn't want me after?”

 

That terrified him. He thought he had learned not to hope for more, but that torturous monster, Hope, had settled in his heart. A little hope kept you going in hard times. A lot of hope was agony.

 

“What if I'm just a port in the storm?”

 

Dorian's heart raced and his chest grew tight.

 

After a moment, he shook his head and squared his shoulders.

 

It didn't matter.

 

“Even if that's all this is,” he thought, “He deserves whatever he help I can give him. He deserves the whole damned world at his feet. He has too many people asking for everything under the sun. More people should be _giving,_ asking _what they can do_ instead of making demands. Ren started off as a damned captive and now he's running himself ragged.

 

Of course, it's his own choice. He never would have a say in anything without this power, and he's using it to make the changes he wants to see in the world.

 

If I can ease his burdens, just a bit... If I could only make him smile, that would be enough. I can be that for him.”

 

 


	23. Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian

Dorian's life was one of roads. Before he was born, his life had been set on a path by his parents. Every route, every detour was account for to get him to his destination: the Magisterium. Even his sexuality hadn't taken him off course (though it made finding a suitress difficult).

 

He had long since accepted his role, and didn't begrudge it too much. It gave him stability and purpose. Had he been able to bed and marry freely (or agreed to take a wife and be discreet with his lovers), he'd probably already be part of the Magisterium.   
  


It wasn't until he left to join the Inquisition that he saw the possibilities. He had _real_ choices now, with real consequences. What once had been a single road was now a river with hundreds of lakes and tributaries.

 

He had complete freedom for the first time in his life.

 

It was thrilling, but more than that... It was _terrifying_. The sudden autonomy was almost too much.

 

This was yet another way Iljrene was his foil. Ren grew up with near complete freedom in his nomadic life. He spent his youth sparring and embracing the wilds.

 

It bled into their journeys with the Inquisition.

 

Dorian always kept to the paths when he traveled, preferred the indoors and having an itinerary. But Ren _explored._

 

Ren was never lost -he was on an adventure. Can't find camp? Exploring. Trying to find a rebel base? Scenic tourism. Tracking a talking sheep wandering in the Hinterlands? Exciting entry for a letter home. Unless someone's life was on the line, no vast wilderness could bring him down.

 

His eagerness to embrace the unexpected filled Dorian with wonderment.

 

The wilderness never seemed to vast with Iljrene at his side. He cherished their time together and embraced the mystery of what lay before them.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting for about two months nearly ready to post. But never *quite* ready. It's still not, but I can't think of what I want to do to fix it. XD


End file.
